A Lopsided Smile and a Tequila Sunrise
by DragonLady37
Summary: "Are you trying to set me up with Harry Potter?" Pansy asked, her face hard as she squeezed Hermione's hand hard. "Of course I'm not," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. Hermione could not lie well. Which is how Pansy knew that in this moment, she was telling the truth. At that realization, something in Pansy wilted. / EWE, Hansy, Dramione


**This was previously chapter 3 of my collection of one-shots titled "Snippets." It's my first non-Dramione story (but they're in there, don't worry). I can't see myself writing many non-Dramione fics, but this one was a lot of fun. Hope you like it!**

**Rowling is my queen!**

* * *

"I really don't want to intrude." Pansy Parkinson sat on the modest sofa in the modest home of Draco and Hermione Malfoy with her legs cross and a not-quite-scowl on her face. The idea that Draco, her _oldest_ and _dearest_ friend, having a modest _anything _was still shocking to her, but he seemed happy, stupidly happy, so she held her tongue when she came to visit them. And besides, she'd grown rather fond of his wife - not that she'd go around saying that to just anyone - so it was in her best interest to just sit on the so-so couch without making any comments that might be seen as rude.

"How can you be intruding if we're _inviting_ you?" Hermione asked as she sipped her tea, legs curled under her in the plush, overstuffed armchair beside the couch.

"I'd be the third wheel," Pansy said, sitting back in a huff, reminiscent of the small, spoiled child she once was.

"We've invited other people," Hermione said, eyes brightening in a way that made Pansy nervous.

"Who?" Pansy asked, sitting forward again, but before Hermione could answer, Draco walked in and clapped his hands, startling both witches. Pansy was sure that had been his intent and fought the urge to scowl again.

"Ready, ladies?" he asked with a broad smile. Never, in all the years she'd known him, had she seen him smile as much as he had since he married Hermione-bloody-Granger. It had been unsettling at first to see the smirk-king grin like a lovesick Hufflepuff, but she'd grown as used to it as she ever would. It was a very odd, but very nice, change she supposed. Not that she'd ever tell _him,_ or anyone else, that.

Pansy huffed. "As I was telling Hermione, I don't want to intru - "

"Great!" Draco said, in typical Draco-fashion, hearing only what he wanted, or expected, to hear. He offered his hand to his wife, then pulled her to standing, and gave Pansy a smirk. "The car's waiting."

"Car?" Pansy sighed, sitting her half-drunk mug on a coaster and standing. There was no getting out of going now. He'd made up his mind, and Hermione was smiling as if she'd made up hers.

"We're going into _Muggle London,_" Draco said, waggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated way as if it were the most exciting, scandalous thing he could imagine. Beside him, Hermione rolled her eyes.

Pansy smirked to show that she wasn't at all intimidated by _Muggle London. _Though, if she were being honest, going into Muggle London _was _a rather unsettling prospect for Pansy. Not that she'd let either of the Malfoys know that.

With a silent groan, she followed the happily married pair to what appeared to be a very modest car. Draco held the door for both witches, and Pansy was relieved to see that, though it looked modest on the outside, the back had been magically extended to appear more like those lemonzines she'd seen in the movie shows Hermione had shown her. She settled into her seat and met Draco's eye as he closed the door behind him. He winked before draping his arm over his wife's shoulders and Pansy couldn't help but smirk in return.

* * *

They pulled up to a pub maybe a half-hour later, but it was nothing like the pubs she frequented in wizarding London. Immediately Pansy felt in over her head. The Leaky was dark and brooding and she could always hide in a dark corner, or apparate away if needed. The upscale, posh pubs she frequented with some of her socialite friends were elegant with floating candles and live harpists and the like, but still dark and easy to hide in.

This pub was brightly lit. People were everywhere. Some American pop song about clocks ticking played all around them so loudly it was as if it were leaking from the walls.

When they entered, Pansy half-expected everyone to turn and stare - it happened a lot with the Malfoys in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, as they were still a big deal even _years_ after their marriage - but no one did. Suddenly, able to blend into his raucous crowd anonymously, Pansy saw the appeal of a Muggle pub - though she'd never tell her friends that.

Draco looked around. His face brightened and he waved to someone once, then headed off toward the back, leaving with long, sure strides without a backward glance. Without her friend, her heart rate spiked and she fought the urge to turn and bolt.

Pansy jumped when Hermione's hand slid into hers. Pansy looked down at Hermione - she often forgot how short the Gryffindor was because her hair and personality were both so big - and tried to mask the worry on her face, but Hermione just smiled and gave her hand a tight squeeze.

"It took Draco a long time to get used to Muggle establishments," she said with a shrug as she led Pansy back in the direction Draco had gone at a more sedate pace to avoid bumping into other pub patrons. "He used to get all sweaty and red and flustered every time he had to talk to _anyone_. It was really adorable how out of place he seemed, knowing he was trying so hard. Now he swears he prefers Muggle pubs. Even has some Muggle mates he goes out and plays rugby with some weekends." Hermione smiled fondly, still holding Pansy's hand as they navigated the busy space. "And, if I'm being honest, I tried to talk them into a wizarding pub for tonight, but, well, you know how stubborn Draco is. And Harry is just - "

"Potter?" Pansy asked, pulling them to a stop. She could see Draco shaking someone's hand, but couldn't see past him to see who it is. "Potter's here?" Pansy was proud of how level her voice sounded, in spite of how her heart fluttered around like a bloody pixie caught in a cage.

Potter was attractive. Potter was _nice_ to her. Potter was someone she didn't terribly mind seeing at Draco's little get-togethers. Not that she'd tell _anyone_ any of those things. _Ever._

"Oh, yes. I didn't get to tell you at our house, did I? We invited a few other people as well, but they were all busy. Ron was out with Lavender for some anniversary - they celebrated literally _every _milestone of their relationship, as if they're trying to make up for the fact that they're only together because Ron came into so much money after the war - and Blaise and Luna were out of town. So it's just the four of us."

If there was one thing Pansy had learned about Hermione, it was that she was a terrible liar. And in this moment, Hermione was lying.

"Are you trying to set me up with Harry Potter?" Pansy asked, her face hard as she squeezed Hermione's hand hard.

"Of course I'm not," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. Hermione could not lie well. Which is how Pansy knew that in this moment, she was telling the truth.

At that realization, something in Pansy wilted, but she kept her irritated facade up and nodded as if she were pleased. "Well, good. Let's go, then." With false confidence - really the only kind of confidence Pansy had, though she'd never admit that to anyone - she took the lead, pulling Hermione by the hand until they were at the table with Draco and none other than Harry Potter, the boy-who-was-nice-to-her.

"Took you long enough," Harry said with a lopsided smile as he pulled Hermione in for a hug. Pansy thought he may have whispered something to her after that, but couldn't be sure. He let go of Hermione and looked at Pansy, his cheeks red and his glasses askew. He awkwardly held his hand out for her to shake as if he weren't sure she would take it.

She rolled her eyes. "Hello, Potter," she said, shaking his hand firmly and letting it drop quickly.

Harry opened his mouth to answer, his cheeks maybe a bit pinker than before, but Draco clapped his hands together again and drew everyone's attention. Again. It was now Hermione's turn to roll her eyes at her husband's desire to be the center of attention.

"Let's sit, shall we?" He motioned toward the bench and Hermione slid in, Draco beside her, his arm immediately going around her waist and drawing her close. They were always like that. Always touching. Always whispering. Always trading little looks and kisses. It was disgusting, horrific even, and Pansy hated how much she envied it. Not that she'd ever want that with _Draco_ \- she got over that crush in fifth year - but with _someone_. She wouldn't mind someone holding her hand, someone kissing her cheek, someone staring at her with big, green eyes. Not that she had, or would, ever tell anyone that.

Harry motioned to their side of the booth, still extremely awkward, and Pansy rolled her eyes again to hide her own pointless nervousness. She stepped past him and her hand brushed against his. She was grateful that she'd worn her short hair down, as it swung forward and covered the slight blush that suddenly appeared on her pale cheeks. When she chanced a look over at him, he wore another lopsided smile to match his crooked glasses and wild hair. At the sight of that disheveled smile, that wilted part of herself perked up just a bit.

Draco ordered a bottle of wine for the table. Hermione rolled her eyes and glared over at her very blonde husband. Pansy was just about to berate him for ordering things for everyone without asking - such an antiquated thing to do - when Potter spoke up beside her.

"I'm not a fan of a dry red," he said, looking right at her, green eyes bright. "Would you like something else?" He smiled. "My treat." Was he nervous? He seemed nervous. She hoped he was nervous.

"I - " her cheeks heated, but she held her head high. "I've never ordered anything in a Muggle pub before," she said hating that she sounded ashamed, but Potter just gave her that lopsided smile again that made the pixie in her stomach act up.

"Well," Potter said, turning toward her slightly, his knee bumping against hers. He didn't pull it away. "How about I surprise you then? You like fairy ale, yeah?"

Pansy nodded slowly, her features pinched. How did Harry Potter, the-boy-who-she-didn't-mind-seeing-at-social-gatherings, know what she drank?

"Brilliant. Be back in a jiff." Crooked smile on his face, Harry stood and made his way to the bar. He wasn't as tall as Draco - he was really only an inch or so taller than Pansy - but she couldn't help but notice that he was fit. He looked brilliant in his Muggle jeans and a white Muggle tee shirt - very different than Draco in his pressed, gray slacks and a tailored button-down. It was a good different. Not that she'd _ever _tell Potter _that._

"I suppose I should ask if you'd also like something other than a dry red," Draco drawled, looking at his wife with false annoyance. Even Pansy could see the twinkle in his eye as he played the part of a rich, entitled arsehole to perfection.

Hermione laughed and smirked at him. "Surprise me," she said, her voice sultry. "I _dare_ you."

Pansy rolled her eyes. Not many people knew that the Malfoy pair had gotten their start during a game of Truth or Dare during their strange eighth year.

Draco growled at his wife low in his throat, then leaned in and kissed her cheek, lingering a moment too long for comfort, as far as Pansy was concerned.

"The two of you are the worst. Absolutely disgusting," Pansy said as he left, her face a mask of irritability. In her mind, a brief image of Potter kissing her cheek flashed, but she quickly pushed it away. That was something she'd _never tell anyone._

Hermione laughed. "We're very aware." She smiled at her husband as he joined Potter at the bar, then turned to Pansy across the table. "We spent _so _many years hating each other. You know? Then, even after we realized we didn't _actually_ hate each other, we had to spend so long _pretending_ we weren't dating, _pretending _not to be in love. It was just awful. Now that we don't have to hide anything, it's just nice to be able to let it all out, you know? Sort of like we're making up for lost time, I guess." Hermione smiled and looked toward Draco again. "It's freeing." She looked back to Pansy. "Kind of like you and Harry being friends, even after, well - " Hermione shrugged. "After everything that happened between all of us." She gave Pansy a pointed look.

"Hermione," Pansy said, leaning on her forearms to get closer to the frizzy haired brunette. "You told me you _weren't _trying to set me up with Potter. Were you lying?" Pansy felt raw hope bloom in her chest, but she tamped it down. Parkinsons didn't hope for things. Parkinsons took what they wanted. Parkinsons didn't pine secretly over emerald-eyed Gryffindors who knew what she liked to drink and paid attention to her when others didn't.

Hermione sat up straight and made an X motion across her chest. "Cross my heart, I'm not."

Pansy sat back, that same feeling of something wilting, burning in her chest. "It sure seems like you are," Pansy grumbled.

Before Hermione could respond, Harry returned with a bottle that said _Golden Glory_ across a paper label. Pansy rolled her eyes at the irony. In front of her, he sat a tall glass with red liquid on the bottom that faded to orange at the top, topped with an orange wedge and a cherry.

"What is this?" she asked, looking at him, eyes squinted.

Harry adjusted his glasses on his nose. "It's called a tequila sunrise. It's quite sweet, but so's fairy ale, so I thought you'd like. It's pretty strong, though, so fair warning." He pushed his glasses up again.

Tentatively, Pansy brought the glass to her lips and took a sip. The sweet, tangy flavor washed over her tongue, followed by the bite of Muggle alcohol. She smiled and sat the cup down. "That's quite good," she said, and was rewarded when his lovely, lopsided smile graced his features, his glasses slipping down his nose again. "Thank you."

"And what did you bring me?" Hermione asked as Draco returned, his bottle of red in one hand, two glasses in the other.

"You said to surprise you, so I thought, what would be more surprising than sharing a bottle of wine with your loving husband?" He smiled, and she scowled, though it was clear to anyone who knew them there was no real anger in it.

"You know I don't like dry wine," she said, facing him with her eyebrows raised.

Harry leaned toward Pansy and said in a fake whisper, "They always have to fight about _something_, no matter where we go. I think they like the attention."

Pansy glanced at him, so close to her shoulder, and felt herself blush again. "Does it ever end in bloodshed?" she asked quietly, turning slightly to face him.

"Not _usually_," he said with a lopsided smile before he leaned away again. She immediately felt his absence.

"Just read the label," Draco said, rolling his eyes as he nudged the bottle closer to his large-haired wife.

Hermione snatched it up and her expression melted from anger to adoration. "You traded it for sweet. This is the same wine we drank at our wedding."

"And the wine your parents drank at theirs. I'm not a monster," he said, straightening his sleeves with a sniff.

Hermione leaned into him, but looked at their friends. "He is, though," Hermione deadpanned, and Draco rolled his eyes. He slipped his arm back around her and kissed her curls as she carefully poured a glass of sweet red for each of them. "But I love him anyway."

"Someone has to," he said with a shrug.

"The two of you are so very odd," Pansy said, sipping her drink and feeling her lips buzz. Potter was right, this drink was strong.

"They're the worst," Harry said with a smile, and Pansy felt herself smile back.

* * *

When it was time to leave the pub, Pansy felt a little unsteady on her feet. She'd only had the one drink, and had drunk it slowly, but it had gone straight to her head. Those Muggles really knew how to mix their liquor.

"We can drop you at your flat, Pans," Draco said as Hermione hugged Harry goodbye, whispering something in his ear again. Pansy's eyes flitted to Potter without her permission. He caught her gaze and smiled. She wanted him to whisper something in her ear. And she was almost intoxicated enough to tell him just that.

"I live near her," Harry said quickly, then cleared his throat. "I have my broom and my cloak. I don't mind to take her home." He gave Pansy a quick, lopsided smile. "Besides, the two of you get handsy after wine. I'm sure Pansy doesn't want to witness that in the back of your fancy car."

"Definitely don't want to see that," she heard herself say, her cheeks pink and her stance wobbly.

Hermione was grinning from ear to ear. She crossed over to Pansy and pulled the slightly intoxicated girl into a fierce hug. Pansy liked Hermione's hugs - thought she'd never tell her. She'd never had a girlfriend like the bossy, bushy-haired girl in her life, and she found it quite refreshing.

"You said you weren't trying to set us up," Pansy whispered into Hermione's hair and Hermione laughed big and loud.

"I'm not," she whispered, hugging her again. "But _Draco _is!" Pansy's face flamed. Hermione pulled back and squeezed Pansy's shoulders. "Let us know when you're both home safely, alright?" she asked with false calm.

Draco gave Pansy a wink and shook Potter's hand, and then they were gone, the car's rear lights fading as they sped off down the street.

"My broom's just down this alley," Potter said, awkwardly offering her his arm. She wobbled slightly and took it, blushing at how warm his skin was under her hands. "Oh," he said, fumbling in his pocket. "Here. I always bring Sober-Up with me, just in case, and, well - " he blushed. "If I fly with a buzz, I get motion sick. This might help."

"Thanks," she said, taking the small vial from him. Did his fingers linger a little too long on hers? Her head was too fuzzy to be sure. She wanted them to linger. She knew that.

When they were down the alley where no Muggles could see, she downed the potion, grimacing at the bitter flavor. But almost immediately she felt steadier on her feet and her mind cleared. "Thank you. That's much better."

Harry shrugged almost awkwardly, and took the empty vial, pocketing it again. He looked down the well-lit alley, then pulled his invisibility cloak from his broom, which was propped in the alley. "Are you comfortable on a broom?" he asked.

"Very," she said, feeling much more self-conscious now that she was sober again.

"Good," he said, relieved. "Hermione's a nightmare to fly with. She panics and you can't enjoy a moment of it." He mounted the broom and looked to her - his cheeks were definitely pink. "Where would you like to sit?" he asked, his voice breaking a little as his green eyes opened wide. He had lovely eyes, and though she'd never dream of telling him that, part of her wanted to say it, just to see what he would do.

"In front," she said, boldly, though her hands shook as she mounted the broom in front of him and scooted back against his chest. He _was _fit beneath his tee-shirt. Solid. And warm.

"We'll have to wear the cloak," he said as he draped the invisibility cloak around them.

As soon as they were covered, his arms slipped beside her to grip the broom handle in front of her, and she couldn't help but shiver at the feeling of his arms pressed against her sides. She hoped he just thought she was cold. With his hands on the broom in front of her and his chest pressed into her back, she wasn't quite sure what to do with her hands. She was glad he'd given her some Sober-Up, as she'd probably have done something foolish otherwise, like cover his hands in hers or grip his thighs with her fingers. She wondered if his thighs were as fit as his chest and blushed a shade of red that could rival a Weasley.

"Ready?" he asked - he sounded as breathless as she felt - and she nodded.

He kicked off the ground and she gasped, her hands scrambling for purchase somewhere. He let go of the broom handle with one hand and shyly wrapped his arm around her waist. She immediately grabbed his arm, holding on tightly. Her cheeks, already crimson, heated even more and she felt his shy arm firm up against her. It felt _wonderful._

"I've got you," he said into her ear, his voice low, and she shivered again as she nodded.

They flew in relative silence, Harry never relinquishing his grip on her waist, and Pansy never letting go of his arm. She was disappointed when she saw her street down below and knew their ride was nearly over.

When they reached her flat, he landed and pulled the cloak away. She reluctantly let go of him and slid off the broom, only a little surprised when he followed, walking her to her door.

"I had a lot of fun tonight," he said, hands deep in his pockets, hair windblown across his forehead in a way that made her want to push it back - not to fix it, just to touch it.

"Me too." She took a deep breath. "Thank you for helping me at the pub. I don't know much about Muggles," she said. Admitting weakness wasn't something she did, ever, and it had her heart racing almost as much as his proximity. Both were risks for a Parkinson.

"Of course," he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He looked into her eyes and her heart rate sped up even more, that pixie in the cage of her ribs going absolutely bonkers. Harry Potter, the boy-who-made-her-heart-flutter. She wanted to tell _someone_ this. Anyone. Maybe the boy himself.

"Did the Sober-Up work?" he asked, eyes bright.

"Yes," she said, confused. "Totally and completely back to normal." He was looking at her strangely, and it made her want to fidget, but Parkinsons did _not _fidget.

"Good," he said, seeming relieved. "I wanted to ask you something, and I wanted to make sure you were clear-headed and in your right mind before I did." He cleared his throat and fidgeted with his hands. "I know tonight wasn't a date, but - " he swallowed heavily. "I had a lot of fun. As I said. And, well, I was wondering, if maybe, possibly, you'd like to go out with me sometime. Maybe to dinner, or drinks, or something. On a date." His green eyes were wide and the color reminded her of spring grass and before she could even properly process his words she was saying -

"Yes," she said, perhaps a little too quickly. "I mean, well, I meant yes." She laughed and felt her face heat. "I'd very much like that, Pott - Harry."

That beautiful, lopsided smile stretched across his face, and before she could stop herself she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. He hesitated a moment, shocked, before he stepped into the kiss, pillowing her bottom lip between both of his, sweetly, for just a moment as his hands found her waist and rested there, feather-light.

"Tomorrow?" he asked as she pulled away, his expression as bright as the moon.

She couldn't keep the smile from her own face. "Tomorrow," she agreed with a nod.

"I'll pick you up," he said with that lovely, lopsided smile of his and a nod before he hopped on his broom. He looked at her once more - it was how Draco sometimes looked at Hermione - and she blushed. Then he kicked off and flew away.

* * *

Back in her flat, Pansy fell onto her luxurious leather sofa - not modest in the least - and smiled. She touched her lips, imagining his lopsided smile pressed there, and feeling very much like a schoolgirl with a crush.

Parkinsons kept things close to the chest. They didn't kiss and tell. They didn't go all googly over a sweet, awkward half-blood with beautiful eyes and messy hair. But maybe Draco had the right idea, breaking away from the traditions of their shared past. Maybe he'd had the right idea in secretly setting the two of them up, too.

Grabbing a quill and some parchment, she hastily scribbled a note to send through the floo.

_Draco,  
You bloody arrogant prat. You set me up with Harry-bloody-Potter, the golden boy who bloody lived. I don't know whether to bake you a cake or throw a brick through your window. You'll be pleased to know he's asked me out on a proper date tomorrow night, and I'm pleased to inform you that you and your meddlesome wife are __**not **__invited.  
Thanks for being such a good, if irritating, friend. And please, moving forward, stay out of my bloody business.  
Cheers,  
Pansy  
P.S. The boy who lived is also the boy who kissed, and it was __**fantastic.**_

With a smirk, she folded the note into the shape of a heart - something she'd learned at Hogwarts - and sent it through the floo to wait for the Malfoys in the morning.

With a grin on her face that should couldn't shake, she changed into her silk pajamas and slipped beneath the imported silk sheets of her four-poster-king-sized-bed.

And not that she'd ever admit it to anyone but the boy himself, but she fell asleep thinking about a boy with bright green eyes, a beautiful, lopsided smile, and glasses sitting crookedly on his nose.


End file.
